


Bloody Chrysalis

by silverwolf_fox



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Cinematic record, F/M, Grim Reapers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Miscarriage, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation, Suicide, Trans Grell Sutcliff, everything else is pretty fine, first half of first chapter is dark, mentions of gang rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 00:58:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14630706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverwolf_fox/pseuds/silverwolf_fox
Summary: Life as a human woman had been nothing but pain for Grell. In her final moments, she shunned her womanly body and came back as a male reaper. While visiting the grave of Madam Red, she finds comfort from an unexpected companion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starts off pretty dark and graphic.

I was broken. Left crawling along the dirty floor like a pathetic creature as the men walked out the door. Laughing. One of my legs was set at an odd angle and couldn’t properly move so it dragged behind me while I pulled myself across the rough wood. With each move I could feel the pieces of my shattered kneecap separating and colliding.

The thin skirt I had been wearing was torn and stained with blood and semen, while my white blouse had been ripped off long ago. Scratches and bruises colored my limbs, lips cut by chipped teeth, and my knotted hair was falling in front of my face. A single candle illuminated the dingy room and casted menacing shadows.

Through force of will, I made it to the wall. In the attempt to sit up, I had to twist onto my back. The raw flesh of my inner thighs stretched and ached as I lifted one left leg over the other. There was no choice but to ignore the sharp pains of broken bones of the other as it rolled over. From there I could use my arms to push myself up to lean against the wall.

Sitting up allowed a gush of fluids to flow out of the juncture between my legs. The sensation had my stomach rolling, and when I spat out a mouthful of blood, acidic chunks quickly followed. With no real mobility from my pained and broken body, the warm bile splattered down my chest.

My head leaned back against the wall then rolled to the side. Despite the hazy black cloud encroaching on my vision, I was able to move my eyes down to take in the heavy layering of blacks and bruises on my stomach. Over in the corner was the lump of red flesh that had once swelled my belly. Tears flooded my gaze as I looked at him. I lifted my head back up and let it bump the wall behind me.

Everything hurt after the abuse of my husband and his friends. The thudding of my heart against my ribcage was deafening in the quiet stillness of the ramshackle house, and I could feel the hoarseness of my voice with every painful breath. A coughed shook my form.

This pathetic female body. Weak and vulnerable.

Sitting on the floor a mere three feet away was a large carving knife, one I often used while cooking. The dark red blood crusting the edge after it was used to design my flesh made certain that it’d never be used for such a mundane task again, but for now it would serve my purpose.

With a throaty groan, I reached over and gripped the handle in my fist. The blade scraped across the floor as I dragged it over to me. Raising it up, I grabbed a chunk of hair and cut through it. When I held it in front of my eyes, the chocolate threads were matted and stained red. The lock fell to the ground with a near silent plop, and I continued to shear more of the bloodied strands from my tender scalp.

When the choppy locks were too short to be grabbed, a pile of hair laid on the ground. Next I palmed my right breast, eyes wincing at the aching bruises put there by larger, rougher hands. It’d be better if I didn’t have them. I held up the lump of flesh and hovered the sharp blade over it. After a moment’s hesitation, I started slicing, shouting at the pain.

It burned and bled and the more I cut, the more blood and fat spilled out until finally the last stretch of skin separated. The horrible sensation that spread from my chest was blinding, and I tossed the useless tit away, too focused on the pain to hear the squelching sound when it landed.

Refusing to give myself a reprieve, I began the process again on the left side. The skinless areas itched and ached. Blood soaked my torso and mixed with the vomit that had already crusted on my stomach. It went slower this time as the heightened pain threatened to make me faint. My vision had already darkened, spots dancing wherever I looked, and a warmth spread from my loins when my body began going into shock and I could no longer control my bladder.

A glob of blood thickened the back of my throat. The desire to close my eyes and fade away was strong, but there was one last thing binding me to this weak womanly form. The carving knife, now slick in my grasp, was poised to stab my belly. Fire grew within me, threatening to destroy me from the inside out, but I was so close.

After ridding myself of my womanly womb, I would finally be fr-

* * *

 I slowly twirled my red parasol between gloved fingers. Moonlight painted the cemetery silver and added a beautiful ambiance to my stroll between the grave markers. The dead walking amongst the dead had always brought me a rather macabre sense of amusement, one that she wasn’t always keen to.

She always did have more refined tastes.

The pale gray stone was immaculate without a speck of dust to be found and was decorated with bright red spider lilies on either side. It was comforting that the Phantomhive brat was at least good for something.

“Sweet Angelina, my Lady in Red,” I lamented. “If ever I was to regret something, it would be the dreadful way we parted.”

“What are you doing here, Sutcliff?” A pleasant shudder crawled down my spine, and I turned to face my superior officer. Never one for stealth, I was aware he’d been following me shortly after arriving in the world of the living.

“Can’t a lady take a stroll to get some fresh air?” The slight clenching of his jaw expressed his displeasure at my glib tone. I twisted my fingers in my long, blood red hair and offered a sly smile. William stepped around me to look at the gravestone.

“Angelina Dalles,” he read.

“Yes.” My voice was sombre.

“The woman known as Jack the Ripper. This is the anniversary of her death, is it not?”

That summoned a shuddering sigh while I ducked my head, shielding part of my face with the parasol. Quietly, I responded, “Yes.”

William T. Spears hummed thoughtfully before turning towards me.

“I never did understand your fascination with that woman,” he admitted in his typical monotone as he pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. One of my hands inched to the flat planes of my belly, and my thumb softly stroked that special place just below my navel. Truthfully, I didn’t know why I loved her. That seductive color she wore was eye-catching, but there was something in Angelina’s eyes that had spoken to me. A pain we were unlucky enough to share.

“I suppose she reminded me of myself.”

“I don’t recall your histories sharing much similarity.” He’s not entirely wrong, as I had been a common housewife while she was a noblewoman and a doctor. When I didn’t answer, phosphorescent eyes dropped to where I cradled a belly that was once swollen with child in another life. “Oh.” Try as he might to pretend we weren’t close friends, William was the only one I ever shared my death’s story with, just as I am the only one who knows his.

Very rarely do reapers speak of such personal matter. It takes a suicide to become one of us, and it is not typically a cheerful tale that ends in such tragedy.

Heat thrummed beneath my skin when William slowly stepped closer to me and moved my hand to place it in the crook of his elbow. There was a comfort to be found in the rare gesture. Even in my moments of emotional grandeur, he was always a steady rock to keep me grounded. After a few brief moments, I heard William take a breath.

“May I ask you something?” There was a hesitancy that set me on edge, but I quickly forced myself to relax.

“My dear William, you know you can ask me anything,” I assured, resting my cheek on his shoulder while keeping my gaze on Angelina’s grave. Even in the coolness of the night, the chill of death that clung to all reapers was noticeable on my companion.

“Why did he kill the child when you finally conceived?” Pulling back slightly to observe his profile, I was surprised to see his jaw unusually clenched. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen William so uncomfortable. I took a moment to gather my thoughts before replying.

“We’d gone so long without success that he didn’t believe it could be his.”

“Was it?” I thought of the many times my husband had brought others into our bed. Let them claim me like a whore only to punish me for it after.

“I don’t know.”

Before tense silence could shroud us, I forced a laugh and released his arm. I spun around to face him, long hair twirling around my waist, and pressed my hand against his chest.

“This has become far too macabre for my tastes, darling!” Lightly tapping my parasol against my shoulder, I wagged a finger and winked at William. “It’s a bit late for dinner, so why don’t we go share a pot of tea?”

Without waiting for the inevitable rejection, I skipped over to the grave and kissed my fingers before pressing them to the gray stone.

“‘Til next we meet, my lovely red lady.” After saying my farewell, I ran a hand through my hair and started back on the path through the graveyard.

“Sutcliff,” William said, drawing my chartreuse gaze back over my shoulder.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Will. I know you have more important things to do,” I laughed, loftily waving my hand in dismissal.

“Grell!” The firm tone caused me to freeze drop my smile. That’s the voice that usually precursed me getting hurt. Instead, William moved next to me replaced my hand around his arm and lightly patted it. My cheeks burned red when one corner of his mouth tilted upward. “Some tea would be lovely.”

“Oh, William! Falling for my charms at last?” I screamed and threw my arms around him, the parasol falling from my grasp in favor of pressing my hands against the hard planes of his back.

“Do control yourself, Sutcliff,” William sighed, easily freeing himself from my exuberant hold. He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “It’s not very ladylike.” In his typical monotone, it’s difficult to tell if he’s making fun, but I huff and grab his wrist, taking the lead out of the moonlit cemetery.

We were passing the iron-wrought gate before I slowed down. William didn’t speak, only allowed me to return my hand to the crook of his elbow so that we could continue walking side by side. My eyes glanced over to stare at his stoic expression.

_Thank you, Will._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grell wakes up as a reaper with one teeny tiny difference.

_ Tiny hands pressed against a window pane. The little girl’s reflection showed a dirty but smiling face, eyes shimmering at the beautiful blue dress in the shop. Something her mother would never be able to afford judging by the well worn white shift the little girl wore. _

_... _

_ A ruler slapped her knuckles when the young girl kept looking outside. Instead of playing outside, she had to take lessons. Learn things like reading and basic numbers. Things that would set her apart from the other women in town. The young girl had to keep her posture straight in the uncomfortable wooden chair. Her mother was determined that she’d be raised a proper lady to win a proper husband. _

_... _

_ The party was very important. Everyone was dressed in fine, colorful gowns, and the young lady was being twirled in a graceful waltz. The handsome man was whispering sweet words in her ear, bringing a blush to her cheeks. _

_... _

_ The handsome man kissed the young woman’s hand, complimenting her on the blue dress he had gifted to her. She was in love. _

_... _

_ Their wedding was beautiful. The beautiful woman was kissing her new husband. She was sad, because her mother wasn’t there to see her dream become a reality. To see her beloved daughter marry a well off man that treated her well. I think that was the last time the beautiful woman was truly happy. _

_... _

_ Shouts brought tears to the saddened woman’s eyes. Curled on the floor with a bleeding lip, she begged her angered husband for forgiveness. Several years they were together, and still she had not borne him a child. It was the first time he had hit me. The man grabbed his wife and tore away her dress. He ignored her cries and sheathed himself into her. It wasn’t the last time he forced himself on me. _

_... _

_ Hands gripped her breasts and painfully kneaded the already bruising flesh. His liquored breath blistered against her skin, and she flinched away from the bitter scent only to receive a slap for her insolence that cracked her head to the side. Darkness had consumed her, but this time I could see him, could remember the feel of dull teeth biting into the supple swell of my bosom.  He sucked a pert nipple to make it burn red, then gnawed on it with his yellowed teeth until blood flowed instead of milk. _

My nails clawed against my chest, desperate to rid myself of the feeling of his touch. I scratched and scratched until the images faded away and left only darkness in their place.

It was only after I opened my eyes that my senses returned to me. That I realized my voice was hoarse from screaming. That I could look down and see blurry rivulets of blood staining a flat chest that was otherwise unmarred. My eyes shut to give my fuzzy vision a chance to clear up.

The stinging pain amplified when I pressed my hands to where my breasts should have been.  The area wasn’t sensitive and didn’t show any evidence to cutting off my breasts, except that they were no longer there. No divots in the flesh or scarring raised against my fingers. Blood smeared against pale skin as I ran my fingers down to the solid abdominals. There was no sign of the stab wound.

Sores and pains I had long become accustomed to didn’t ache as I sat up from the uncomfortable cot I was lying on. When my eyes opened, everything was still blurred, but I could recognize that I was in a white room with a brown smudge on the opposite side which I assumed was a door.

Something fluttered past my vision, and I grabbed it. It squirmed in my grasp when I held it close to my face. I had to squint to make out the images on the film reel. Even though they were stained by the sticky blood on my hands, each picture showed a moment in time from the life that I had just watched.

“Please don’t touch your cinematic record.” The sudden voice shocked me as did the film strip ripping itself out of my hand. Next to the door was a black blob holding a bright light that the flying, curling images of my past flew towards. “Now then, Mr. Grover, my name is Alexander Roberts,” he continued, “and I need to discuss some things with you.”

“Mister?” I asked, brow wrinkling in confusion. Alexander stepped closer and set a pile of dark clothes next to me.

“I must ask that you get dressed before we go any further.”

“You called me mister,” I persisted, refusing to let it go. Although I couldn’t see his expressions very well, part of me was saying that he rolled his eyes.

“There’s no need to be concerned. A form has been submitted to correct this egregious clerical error in your file.”

“But I’m not,” I started, my hand unconsciously drifting down between my thighs. Fingers brushed against a sensitive length of flesh that stole the breath from me. As I started to scream, Alexander rushed in front of me. He grabbed something from the pile he had given me and shoved a pair of glasses onto my face. Everything shocked into clarity so I no longer had to squint.

Chartreuse eyes stared at me, the inhuman phosphorescent light captivating me despite the angry set of them.

“You were not male?” he questioned, managing to sound harsh despite his relatively monotone voice.

“Certainly not!”

“Well that is a problem.” Alexander wrote a note in the black binder he had under his arm. “Not to worry, though.” I sighed in relief and absentmindedly wiped my hands clean on my legs, only realizing after that all I did was smear drying blood along my thighs. My heart beat within my throat when he added, “It’ll take a lot of paperwork, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to corrected your file.”

“What about fixing the actual problem?” I yelled.

“Oh, there’s nothing we can do about that,” he replied calmly.

“So I’m stuck like this?” I gestured at my new, admittedly attractive, body furiously.

“On to more important matters. We must discuss your new responsibilities as a Reaper, but first get dressed.” On reflex, I crossed my arms over my chest to protect my modesty, even though it was no longer necessary. On my feet, I leaned to grab the pair of black trousers from the pile, growing irritated when my new glasses kept sliding to the end of my nose.

“Why do I need these? What happened to my eyes?” So much information was trying to process within my mind, that the issue of my eyesight seemed almost inconsequential

“It’s normal for Reapers to have vision problems, Mr. Grover.”

“Sutcliffe.”

“Beg pardon?”

My body felt unbalanced while I pulled on the black trousers. When they were buttoned and sitting properly about my waist, I gave Alexander a fierce stare.

“My name. I insist you refer to me as Grell Sutcliffe.” It was my maiden name. He hummed thoughtfully and wrote a note down within his binder, muttering about an additional form he’d have to submit just for me.

The scratches clawed down my chest seemed to have stopped bleeding, and the blood that had already congealed along the cuts seemed to have dried, so I figured it wasn’t a problem to pull on the white button up shirt. The tie was simple, as I would often knot it for my husband, and the black jacket easily slid up over my shoulders.

“Now tell me about Reapers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked the idea that when a human commits suicide and becomes a reaper, they must first watch their own cinematic record.  
> I have no more words.  
> I just really wanted this out of my to-be-written folder.


End file.
